First message
Final year. Semester 1 results.
The classroom’s louder than usual. Papers being handed out, chairs scraping, people already comparing scores.
The paper lands on your desk.
You flip it over and pause.
A beat.
Second.
You glance sideways.
He’s already looking at you.
Of course he is.
Leaning back in his chair like he’s got nothing better to do, pen spinning lazily between his fingers.
There’s that look on his face.
That stupid, knowing look.
Aw. he hums, tilting his head slightly as his eyes flick down to your paper, then back up again. You tried.
You narrow your eyes. Shut up.
He grins.
Not subtle. Not apologetic.
First place suits me better anyway.
He taps his own paper lightly against the desk, just enough for you to see the score.
Higher.
By a few marks.
Not a lot.
Just enough to be annoying.
You’re slipping. he adds casually, like it doesn’t matter. Like it definitely does.
You turn fully toward him now.
And you’re annoying.
Mm. He leans in slightly, just to push it further. And you’re still second.
A pause.
Then, like it’s nothing—
Next test’s tomorrow, right?
He leans back again, stretching like he’s already decided how it’s going to go.
Try not to embarrass yourself again.
That smirk stays on his face.
Like he’s already looking forward to it. He scribbles on a note and tosses it onto your head.
You open it.
I’m “King” of the World.
You look over.
He blows a kiss.
Your eye twitches.